


5 times Gilfoyle kissed Dinesh and 1 time Dinesh kissed Gilfoyle

by mrsthessaly



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsthessaly/pseuds/mrsthessaly
Summary: “You didn’t mean with me, did you?” he asked in that monotone tone with which he said everything. Dinesh replied nothing. He has never kissed a man before. “Hm. My bad.”





	5 times Gilfoyle kissed Dinesh and 1 time Dinesh kissed Gilfoyle

 

The first time Gilfoyle kissed Dinesh, he was high.

Dinesh was living in the Incubator for less than a month, and he knew a few things about this moment in his life:

1- He was surrounded by losers. 2- He was going to work past the loser aura around the house without making friends in order not to be contaminated. 3- His app was rad. 4- He was going to get rich in one year and rub it in his cousin’s face. 5- That Gilfoyle guy was the worst person he ever met.

It’s not like Dinesh clicked with anyone in the house, but that Gilfoyle guy was the absolute worst. He was arrogant, ignorant and Dinesh was not yet sure if half of the ironic racist jokes were meant to be ironic. Weirdly enough, they had the same work schedules, so they were constantly the only ones in the living room. Unfortunately, Gilfoyle wasn’t even the weird quiet type; he was the weird _opinionated_ type, and the weird _provoking_ type. Sometimes, they played video games after work. And he always smelled like something sweet and grass-like, something Dinesh remember smelling before, but didn’t remember what it was.

He learned that Gilfoyle smelled like weed that evening he saw him and Erlich sharing a bong in the yard with a few other guys. And two women.

Dinesh stood by the window watching them for three, five, ten minutes, he wasn’t sure, but what he was sure of was that he needed to be included in that group. There were women in there. Two of them.

 The next day, he casually leaned in the back of his chair and asked Gilfoyle to count him in when they were partying again. Gilfoyle made fun of the way Dinesh said _partying_. Dinesh told him to choke on a fat dick. At night, Gilfoyle pulled his headphones in the middle of a Call of Duty match and motioned his head to the yard, his deadeyes widening with a quiet suggestion, a hand flashing Dinesh some weed. Dinesh got up and followed him.

“Where are the girls?”, Dinesh asked him later, when it was just him, Gilfoyle, Erlich, that Asian dude that barely spoke English and another guy Dinesh never saw before.

Gilfoyle simply shrugged. “Erlich scared them off”, he said and passed the bong around. “Apparently, he never saw lesbians before.”

They argued about that until they were too high to argue about that.

Dinesh spent all night pulling that trick he learned in college where he put the smoke in his mouth and blew it, but didn’t inhale. Therefore, he could still look cool and avoid mistreating his asthma.

“You didn’t smoke anything, did you?” Gilfoyle was asking him when everybody went inside and it was just the two of them sitting on the deckchairs.

He thought he hadn’t, but his mind was softer than it should be.

“I have asthma”, he said.

“No, you don’t”, Gilfoyle snorted. “You’re just a boy scout.”

They talked, and Dinesh almost forgot Gilfoyle was the worst person he ever met.

He lit a regular cigarette and got up. Dinesh followed him with lazy eyes while Gilfoyle sat at the end of his deckchair, his thigh touching Dinesh’s, and smoke in silence. He was drinking beer, too, a brand Dinesh never saw before. Old Rasputin. His beard was kind of gross, not full in his slim face, and his long hair in a ponytail looked greasy. When he talked, Dinesh noticed his teeth were weirdly rounded. Gilfoyle was a weird guy. His eyes were pretty.

“Why did you ask to join if you don’t smoke?” Said smoke came out of mouth and nose when he spoke and Dinesh thought of demons.

“I was hoping to get lucky tonight”; he answered.

“Okay”, Gilfoyle said before he put the cigarette out with one of those worn out black Converses and leaning in.

His mouth tasted like an ashtray, he smelled sweet grass-like weed and his tongue felt like cotton.

It lasted not even five seconds and he pulled away, Dinesh staring right back at him with wide eyes and the crazy beat of his heart ringing in his ears. He wasn’t breathing.

“You didn’t mean with me, did you?” he asked in that monotone tone with which he said everything. Dinesh replied nothing. He has never kissed a man before. “Hm. My bad.”

Gilfoyle patted his leg two times before getting up and walking back to the house.

Dinesh asked him about the kiss the following morning, but then he shrugged and argued he was too high. Dinesh decided not to push. Gilfoyle wasn't making a big deal out of it, and neither would he. This is Palo Alto. This is fine.

He was stealing tail glances at the back of his head for a few weeks, and following him around, and striking up conversations, and inviting him to play videogames. Dinesh told himself it was curiosity, and not him waiting for it to happen again.

It didn't happen again.

A few months later, Dinesh had two invites to a gamer convention and he didn't go for his cousin Wajeed, but was standing in line to experiment a new way to play first-person shooter games that was supposed to be revolutionary with Gilfoyle, and he noticed he accidentally made a friend.

If Gilfoyle noticed too he didn't say anything, as he didn't say anything about the kiss.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t happen again until a year later, but when it did, it started as a joke.

It's not like Dinesh forgot once Gilfoyle kissed him, but he didn't know what to do with that information, so he didn't do anything and filed it along with the long list of weird things that happened when he first moved into the Incubator, as:

1- He used a narrow spoon to eat soup once and Erlich snapped on him. 2- He asked Jian Yang about his app and regretted that action immediately. 3- He used the pool and Erlich snapped on him again. 4- If he didn't put his name on the things he bought to himself, people would eat them (and sometimes they still ate them, even with his name on it) (people = Gilfoyle). 5- Once, before they knew each other that well, Gilfoyle kissed him.

He didn't again until TechCrunch.

"Are you gay for my code, or are you just gay for me?"

Dinesh didn't want to answer that question, so he took another shot and took the kind of action he became too familiar with lately: he did nothing.

"Drink it up, it's not going to change who you are."

They weren't sharing rooms, but they were on the same floor. Dinesh didn't know why that happen since they all left the bar together, but it was only him and Gilfoyle in the elevator. He filed it along with the things in life that were just meant to be, although he felt drunk and it could be only that and not fate. Dinesh was not used to alcohol, but he had things to kill he thought he had shot dead a long time ago. Gilfoyle was still teasing him, not knowing what he was poking. In those early days, it was all just entertainment for him, a kid's game, sticking needles into Dinesh to see how far he could stretch his patience. It was their game.

"Are you Code Gay or just gay?"

"I don't know."

If he weren't that drunk, he wouldn't have said that the way he did, like it was _true_ , because at that point it was the truest thing about himself - and Dinesh was a liar.

Gilfoyle snorted, still not noticing anything.

He noticed five minutes later, when he was standing so close to Dinesh their noses were touching, wide pupils in huge cat-like eyes, the smell of alcohol and fear, as he put a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. He couldn't make that part of him lie.

There was a moment where he saw Gilfoyle hesitate, unsure, then he leaned in.

The kiss tasted like alcohol, but Dinesh knew that one was on him. They pressed one another against the corridor walls, as if they were fighting, desperate hands grabbing everywhere they could reach, teeth pulling at skin. Dinesh made a fist around his hair and it was as greasy as he thought it would be. Gilfoyle kissed him the same way he did everything to Dinesh: ready to put him down.

When Dinesh shifted them again, using his body to push Gilfoyle against the wall and held him still with a fist around his hair, their erections touched through the jeans. It was real. It was nothing like the deckchairs.

"I was joking", Gilfoyle said, those cat-like eyes wide, his lips red. Dinesh tasted alcohol and blood in his mouth. "I didn't realize... You didn’t before."

"I didn’t know before", was all Dinesh thought of replying.

That, too, wasn’t a lie.

Dinesh realized he was a sincere drunk.

It was not like kissing a random stranger you met a few weeks ago, it was just like kissing your best friend.

Gilfoyle looked around, to the vase they just crashed to the floor, to his hand on Dinesh's chest, and his breath was heavy and spaced. He licked his lips. When he looked up again, he was holding his room key.

Dinesh nodded yes without hearing any question.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t talk about TechCrunch and it was three months until it happened again.

Dinesh wasn’t drunk, but he watched as Gilfoyle become more and more intoxicated through the night.

They were drinking because they won the competition, because they had an amazing product like the Valley never saw before, because they worked so hard, and it was bullshit no one wanted to fund them over the Hooli lawsuit. Dinesh was holding the first beer Erlich gave him. Richard was sipping through his second, talking enthusiastically with Jared, who wasn’t drinking anything. Erlich was sitting on the floor, smoking weed in a bong, Gilfoyle in front of him drinking his eighth bottle of beer. Dinesh was watching him.

He didn’t put his hair in a ponytail like that lately and there was foam on his beard’s mustache. The beard had grown a lot the last months. When he talked, you could barely notice his weird teeth anymore.

Richard went to bed and Jared said goodnight.

Erlich and Gilfoyle were trading stories about what drug provided the best trip.

Dinesh was watching Gilfoyle.

The last time Gilfoyle got drunk, he told Dinesh his mouth was nice. They didn’t kiss, then, but Dinesh was hoping they would that night.

Erlich laid down on the floor for a moment and suddenly he was snoring. Dinesh watched as Gilfoyle smoked the rest of the weed, as he was watching everything he did. When Gilfoyle rested his head on Dinesh’s knee, he sighed; he was tired, drunk, high. Dinesh touched his head and fast let go, like it burned him or something, like touching a demon. He wasn’t breathing.

He noticed his hair wasn’t greasy anymore. Dinesh told him it was that night on TechCrunch. It was soft now.

“You can do it, you know?”, said Gilfoyle.

Dinesh opened his mouth to answer something, but closed it back and did. Gilfoyle’s breath was hot on his thigh even through the jeans while he ran his fingers through his scalp.

One moment there was it, he was petting his friend’s head, and the other he was turning around and hoisting himself up with both hands on his thighs and climbing on top of him to a kiss that was exactly like everything Gilfoyle ever made to Dinesh: a statement of dominance. Dinesh wasn’t sure if he liked Gilfoyle’s kisses because he liked dominant people, or if he liked dominant people because they reminded him of Gilfoyle. He never knew the answer to that question. Either way, he held him close that night, having his wish granted, and let him feel his heartbeat against his chest telling him truths Dinesh, as a liar, wouldn’t tell.

His mouth was pure beer and he smelled sweet grass-like weed, but there was something else there he was almost familiar with by now, something that was just Gilfoyle.

He was looking at him with those huge pretty eyes, his lips parted, and those rounded spaced teeth so close to his mouth Dinesh could feel the bite on his top lip other than look at it.

“I knew it!” Erlich screamed somewhere behind them. “I fucking knew it! No one lives with that much tension and isn’t sexual. Ha!”

Gilfoyle took off his shoe and threw it at him, told him to shut the fuck up, and held Dinesh’s hand all the way through his bedroom where he locked the door and turned on some heavy music Dinesh knew nothing about.

If Erlich was high or drunk enough to blackout what he saw the next day Dinesh wasn’t sure, but he didn’t say anything.

They always hooked up when Gilfoyle was drunk. Gilfoyle was drunk often.

  

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Anton died that Gilfoyle kissed him when he was sober.

“Stay”, he asked Dinesh, who was buttoning up his green pants. Dinesh looked up at him. Gilfoyle wasn’t meeting his gaze, but scratching a line of skin that was an angry tone of red where Dinesh’s stubble bruised him.

Dinesh never stayed before.

He ran his fingers through Gilfoyle’s scalp until he fell asleep with a hand on top of his chest.

 

* * *

 

“I love you.”

Dinesh had his eyes closed, but he opened them as he heard those words. Gilfoyle was not looking at him, his giant cat eyes locked on the ceiling. Without the glasses, one could say he was beautiful.

They were lying on Dinesh’s bed, stomach up, wrapped in a cloud of sweat and the sounds of Dinesh hash breathing. Gilfoyle's arms crossed on top of his bare chest.

Dinesh stared at the unhealed tattooed behind his shoulder and said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”, Gilfoyle asked a minute later.

“I don’t know what to say”, Dinesh answered.

“Okay.”

Gilfoyle shifted, lying on his side, and looked right at him. They have been doing this in secret for a long time and Dinesh still didn’t know why. Why Gilfoyle? Why it had to be a secret? Why didn’t he say anything?

"Don't scratch. If you pull the scrab before it heals, it will leave a flaw." Dinesh didn't notice he was repetitively pushing a finger against that sore tattoo until he was reprehended. "You have to let it fall on its own."

His lips were still the softest and warmest thing Dinesh ever felt on his body, but when Gilfoyle kissed his mouth, it tasted sour.

He touched that little mark again, feeling the relief, memorizing its shapes, until he ripped it off.

شہزادی

 

* * *

 

“I love you”, Dinesh said ten years later when they broke apart. He was still holding the lapels of Gilfoyle’s tuxedo. Gilfoyle was staring down at him, startled, motionless, like that first time he was too high to realize Dinesh wasn’t talking about him and shook his whole world by kissing him in those deckchairs by the pool.

Dinesh hasn’t seen Bertram Gilfoyle in nine years, but he knew everything about him as if he never ripped it off.

Dinesh knew the bigger things everybody knew, like how last year he broke all the growth projections, how he was currently investing in the dry market of security for small companies that still used the internet and this turned out to be unbelievable profitable, and that he was donating large amounts of money to cancer research after his wife died. Tara was young and happy in the press photos. Dinesh sent a check. He didn't write a card. Correction: he didn't send a card. He received a thank you note with Gilfoyle's signature on it that he knew Gilfoyle didn't write because it was too polite. And he wouldn't. It wasn't like him. And Dinesh didn't send any of the cards he wrote, not because they hadn't exchanged a word in years, but because Gilfoyle always could cut right through his bullshit and Dinesh knew he would notice his _I know it's been too long, but I'm here if you need me_ meant something else _._

He didn't know if he could handle a polite, but cold thank you note Gilfoyle didn't sign in response if he had sent one of those cards.

Dinesh also knew the middle things, like how Gilfoyle didn’t have a favorite band because his taste was too volatile – but Black Sabbath and Napalm Death were always a safe choice for a gift –, his favorite game franchise was Alone in the Dark and he ate cereal because he was too lazy to learn how to cook.

And Dinesh knew the little things, the ones that warmed him up at night when he read articles about him online before going to bed – sometimes alone, sometimes with company, but never with him, not anymore. Like the way he counted when he brushed his teeth, the way he put a palm on his chest when they were in bed because he wanted to feel his heartbeat, that he used sarcasm to hide away his true thoughts because people hurt him before, that Dinesh was one of those people, and that ten years ago Gilfoyle loved him.

Ten years later and Dinesh was forced to face he never had or would love anyone like he loved Gilfoyle and he was afraid it was too late to say it back.

"You have to stop calling me", Gilfoyle told him nine years ago as he buttoned up his skinny jeans. This was not supposed to happen.

"You should stop picking up", Dinesh answered with a proud, arrogant, nagging tone, his eyebrows wiggling in his face, following the script. “It’s not my fault you can’t keep away from all of this.”

"It's easier for you to stop calling." He said he left Pied Piper because they were a bunch of sellouts and he didn't believe in Richard's vision anymore, and maybe that was true, but Dinesh knew too many little things to know there was a second truth.

"It really isn't". That, too, was true.

He resisted a month before calling again, and when he did, he discovered that Gilfoyle decided blocking his number was easier than not to pick up.

Gilfoyle blinked.

Dinesh fought Richard and Jared on sending the invitation to Pied Piper 10th anniversary. It wouldn't be the same without him. They owed him. He was one of the funders. They fought years ago and it didn't matter anymore. They agreed to send a polite invitation but knew he wouldn't show up. Dinesh knew he would. He didn't – not for the chair with his name on the stage, not for the speech, not for the photoshoots.

Dinesh found a familiar pair of huge, but bored eyes in the bar. He was drinking cheap dark beer in an expensive tuxedo.

He looked good. His hair was short now and his cheeks had some color in it. He felt heavier, but Dinesh knew he worked out because he saw the pictures, the dogs, the house, the new tattoos, the giant Baphomet behind his shoulders where it once was a bold statement, the motorcycles, and imagined himself in every one of them with him. There was some gray in his beard, longer now than Dinesh ever saw before.

Holding him felt right like nothing in his life felt since he left.

The pretty eyes were the same.

And he stared down at him and said nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a really cute and light piece about five situations in the show’s plot where Gilfoyle kissed Dinesh and Dinesh never knew what to do with it, until he finally grew the courage to kiss Gilfoyle and they lived happy ever after. Well, the first three kisses where it, but the rest just wasn’t.  
> I also wanted to write something that seems more plausible with this pairing to me, which is one of them fucking it up and spending their whole lives sucking about one another but being too proud to fix it, because they both have huge egos.  
> Anyways, who do I have to pay in HBO to have this ship canon? Come on, just look at them and tell me that’s not sexual.


End file.
